


A Little Masterpiece

by KhajiitHasCakes (ProdiGal)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Age Play, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Gen, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 00:49:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21290987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProdiGal/pseuds/KhajiitHasCakes
Summary: Crowley is on a mission to introduce her baby to the joys of childhood the human way. What better to use than fingerpaints?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	A Little Masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

> Working title was 'Crowley vs Heaven's A+ Parenting: Round 1 *DING!*'
> 
> Just testing out a dynamic. 
> 
> A thousand thanks to authors like DamagedDolly, moxhiistar, Monochromehobo, potted_plant, and CompassionAndCaring for their own masterpieces which spur folks like me to scrawl shit like this xD

Warlock Dowling had needed no encouragement from his nanny to play in sand or dirt or art supplies. But then, even deep in this far softer headspace, Aziraphale was nothing like Warlock.

They’re trying something new today: a careful miracle leaving the angel peering up at her from a human toddler’s face under a fluffy tangle of white curls. “Just to try it,” She’d coaxed once he’d reluctantly traded his immaculate waistcoat, shirt, and bowtie for one of their cooking aprons and blue pajama shorts. 

Well.. and his socks. He’d drawn a firm line at fussing with tartan socks and sock garters just to hover indecisively in front of the child’s easel she’d laid out with a crisp sheet of butcher paper and brand new finger paints in the middle of the flat’s kitchen. ”Have a go and if you don’t like it, we’ll stop straight off.”

Blue eyes regarded the easel the same way they had her new iPhone.  
“But.. but it will make such a mess!”  
A longer sentence than she ever heard once he’d drifted and settled into this mindset. Right, time to give a quick nudge and then step back. Let him decide one way or another.

“Tell you a secret, duckling,” She grinned, waiting until his face emerged from where he’d buried it against the thigh of her black skinny jeans. “Clothes, floors, kitchens -- it all _ washes_. Little boys, too. Bit of mess isn’t the end of the world.” There was a reason they’d chosen her flat for this experiment, after all, instead of the one above the bookshop. Not much to get messy when there wasn’t a lot there to begin with. 

She couldn’t wait for the day her baby was comfortable enough to make mischief in every last room of it. 

\-----------------------------------------------

Crowley had just finished groaning her way through the American President’s latest Twitter uproar when she paused to find the flat quiet. Too quiet.  
“All done painting, angel?” Nothing. A little louder: “Angel?”  
Frowning, she rose and sauntered into the other room. And nearly swallowed her tongue. “Ang— _Ack_. Ah. _Huh._ What’s.. What’ve you got there?”

“Eyes!” Proclaimed the cherub grinning like a Cheshire Cat. 

He’d tugged the apron off and draped it across triumphantly spread arms like a pair of wings. The lid of the yellow paint pot sat precariously atop his head: a wobbly halo.  
And every inch of skin from his forehead and cheeks to just above beige tartan socks was covered in dabs of blue paint with black, white, or glittery yellow pupils. 

She blinked. He shifted from foot to foot, grin sliding off like icing on a still-warm cake.  
“Sorrynomoreeyesalldonepaintsorry,” was half muffled as he whirled to grab for the other lids in a flurry of blue splotches and red cheeks. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa — leave the paints out, we need those!” 

He paused, offering a befuddled frown and the loosely closed pot of bright red. “Not... done?”  
He was tense as an ice sculpture under the hand she rested on his shoulder between one black- and one golden- pupiled ‘eye’. 

“‘Course not.” Now it was her turn to grin, warm and bearing hints of fang. “Can’t take a picture til my cheeky monkey’s painted my face too, can I?”

“Oh!” He thawed. Suddenly finding itself not merely sprinkled but saturated with gold and orange glitter, the yellow paint was snatched up. The apron quivered with the first tremors of a happy wiggle, and her baby set to work. 

_ See this? _ Crowley wanted to shout for joy til the Almighty’s ears rang. _ He’s a clever, cheeky little bastard who’s dripping paint on my floor. He’s _ happy_ about it! And neither of us has ever created anything more beautiful than that._

\-----------------------------------------

By the time Crowley crouched to fit herself and Aziraphale into the frame, the screen reflected a beaming little angel’s and smirking demon’s faces covered respectively in blue and shimmering yellow eyes. 

_*Click!* _


End file.
